


The Healer.

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fate & Destiny, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25247947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Merlin casts a spell to empty himself of his love for Arthur. He hopes that it will change his and everyone else's tragic futures. Gaius passes away shortly after, and after him, King Uther, making Arthur king and Merlin the new royal physician.Stripped of his love, Merlin wonders if he will love again.(The Merlin/Arthur is one-sided and unrequited. And the Merlin/Morgana is a fling. In the end, this is a Merlin/Mordred story.)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Mordred (Merlin), Merlin/Morgana (Merlin)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing and I get no money.

PART ONE: Merlin.

The man's lips were full, gentle, like a woman's; his nose was small, and his eyes - gods, his eyes. Merlin did not know how to properly describe them. He did not know if he was frightened or enamored by them. They were piercing, all-seeing, all-knowing, the kind that can read one's thoughts (as they could), the kind that can read through liars, the kind that can see the color of one's soul. At times, they were a bright green, almost yellow. When they were green or yellow and staring at you, it was like a snake staring down a rodent. Other times, they were the deepest of blues, as alone and as melancholic as mystic waters. Then there was his hair: a mop of dark curls, like the Lady Morgana's. They curled about the man's face and neck seductively, sensuously. It made Merlin think of all the paintings and sculptures of Medusa. With his dark curls and piercing eyes, Merlin could not help but make the comparison. 

This man was undeniably gorgeous, but still had the aura of being a possible threat. 

I  
Merlin often wondered if the Old Religion took Gaius' life in exchange for his burdensome love of Arthur. Was his love really so exceptional. Was it really so full and large and significant that it required a life. Or was it just funny timing; was it just that Gaius was already in his senior years. Whatever the case, the only fatherly figure in his life at the very least passed away peacefully. For weeks, the old mentor laid in Merlin's bed (at his insistence). His breathing shallowed out more and more. His vision faded and his voice grew faint. Being knowledgeable of the tumor probably helped with it all. Gaius knew what to expect and he informed Merlin of the symptoms. He told him that there was nothing he could do ("Using magic on me at my age to try and save me might kill me, anyhow"), and he pointed out the best drugs to give to help with the pain. 

He passed away over a night, while the both of them were sleeping. The morning after, Merlin woke up at his bedside, holding his cold hand in his own. 

Merlin, afterwards, improves on his chores (or so Arthur likes to joke), as his "lack of love for Arthur" makes him less passionate and troublesome, he guesses. He actually took his time doing things, thinking everything through. And funny thing: it may have made him less clumsy too. Arthur has expressed how boring he's gotten, probably to check in to see if his sass is still there every once in a while. ("You're no fun anymore, Merlin." "I'm sorry I grew up, my Lord. You should try it sometime, my Lord. That helps when you're doing adult stuff, like running a kingdom.") Every time he has done this, Merlin proves time and time again that he is still far from being a pushover. He still calls the now King Arthur of Camelot names and fights him off. He'll even hit him, but only if Arthur hits him first. It's only fair. You might even say he's fiestier than before; sometimes he's almost downright cruel. 

II  
He only continues to go along with his routine because what else is he going to do? Just sit around and do nothing? And you heard right. Arthur was king now, because shortly after Gaius, the notorious, bigoted tyrant King Uther followed in death. A sickness. Very sudden; so sudden, in fact, that Merlin (who became the new physician, as Gaius laid dying at the same time) concluded that there was nothing he could do for him. His immunity was in a state of rapid collapse, and Uther's age did nothing to help that. There was no sorrow from Merlin. Not for Uther, anyway. He definitely sympathized with Arthur and Morgana as they grieved, though. He did not like seeing them tearful and frustrated. Poor souls didn't know any better. They would never understand the suffering a man like him caused. May the gods help them if they lived under Uther common, poor, or with magic in their blood.

Merlin always believed that Uther's cause of death was poisoning (the slow and torturous sort that took days), but he never told anyone that. If he said that, that would mean he would have to examine the cup or food in which he drank or ate to maybe find remnants of the poison, and from that, maybe find the anecdote. (That's what Gaius would have done.) And he didn't want to do that. He did not want to save Uther. He did not deserve mercy. So there's a chance that King Uther was intentionally killed. And if so, Merlin let the murderer get away with it. 

III  
When Arthur dismisses him as his manservant so he can officially replace Gaius as the royal physician, Merlin feels nothing. The apathy following this change must have come from the lack of love too. Besides, it wasn't like Arthur made him move out of the castle, or out of Camelot. He still got to see the same people every day. 

IV  
The dragon beneath Merlin's feet reached out to him less and less. And after a while, after many silent nights, he grew curious (or had his first sting of loneliness since Gaius' passing) and went underground to find the chain binding the dragon shattered. It must have been attached to Uther's hateful life force. With Kilgharrah gone, that cave felt like the emptiest, loneliest place the gods ever created.

V  
Before Kilgharrah left, whenever Merlin went down below and brought Arthur up, the dragon, oddly enough, didn't seem to have any kind of disdain for the prince, as condescending and as detestable as Merlin sometimes found him to be. ("The prince is still young and unknowing of a lot of things. I cannot hate him for that. He will learn. He will be the one to bring magic back to the land, for he has a good heart, and his aura is nothing like his father's.") His rage was only for Uther, the one that massacred his kind and chained him down there. He was the destroyer, the bringer of the Great Purge: blinded by a hatred for magic after the passing of the Lady Ygraine. It didn't make sense to Merlin, not until Kilgharrah told him the truth: Arthur was born from magic, and the Lady Ygraine died bringing him into the world. 

"Wait..." Merlin then said, completely baffled. "So Arthur has magic too?"

"Mm, not quite," Kilgharrah corrected. "Uther called upon the High Priestess Nimueh, and asked her to use her magic to grant him the son he so greatly desired. That is what separates him from Uther. The magic. It's very faint. It's not in his blood, and he could never cast spells, but the aura is still there."

Merlin actually laughed. The poor dumb bastard had no idea. And while the dragon was at it, he also mentioned that the Lady Morgana was not Uther's adopted ward, as he always said; the orphaned child of a hapless knight that died in battle. She was, in fact, Uther's first child, and she did have magic. Now Merlin did not find himself laughing at this. He didn't even laugh at the irony. The Lady Morgana had frequent night terrors, and now that he knew of her magic, he knew why that was. Her power was being suppressed, and when magic is suppressed, it fights. It fights hard to break free. He knew because the same thing happened to him when he reached his teenage years.

Merlin wanted so badly to tell the two royals. But more than anything, he feared what Arthur might do. What would become of Morgana. What would become of himself. Uther was gone, and Arthur had yet to sentence any sorcerers to death, but he still turned his nose up at magic. He still lived in his father's shadow. Even if Merlin were to tell them, where was his proof? According to Kilgharrah, the only ones that knew were Uther, Gaius, the High Priestess Nimueh, and some other woman named Morgause. Two of those people were dead and the other two were apart of the enemy.

VI  
Arthur was described by the dragon as the one that would legalize magic and bring peace back to the land, but Merlin just could not believe that. He thought it was complete horse shit. When Uther lived, Arthur was the chief knight. If he ordered that all the houses be searched for sorcerers, to bring them in for an unfair trial and an immediate execution, Arthur did it. The Knights were often quite rude and did not care if they damaged private property. Arthur claimed that he cared about all the people of Camelot, but did nothing to fix the poverty. And he treated all his servants - Merlin and all those before him - like shit. How was he supposed to believe that this prat was going to fix everyone's problems. Whatever the case, Merlin wasn't even sure if that was going to be the bright future that awaited them anymore, as his exchange with the Old Religion might have changed the course of history itself.

It was most surprising when Arthur openly declared his love for Gwen, Morgana's maid. Maybe that was apart of the historical change. Gwen happily, tearfully, returned his affections, and after a few months, the two were married making Gwen the first common woman, the first serving girl, to become queen in years. The burn of rejection, of jealousy, that Merlin was supposed to feel was absent. Good. The Old Religion gave him what he wanted. It was better this way.

VII  
One night, Merlin entered Morgana's chambers and brought her her medication, as she had just run out. She was already tucked in and Sefa (her new maid; lovely, quiet, a tad bit clumsy, like Merlin once was) was let go for the evening. He sat at her bedside and made sure that she took it, watching her gulp it down with water.

"Thank you, Merlin," she nodded, smiling that sweet smile of hers. He always envied her for her perfect teeth. "Bless you."

When she opened her arms and brought him in for a hug, he was startled, but did not shy away, "Oh!" He meakly returns the embrace, leaning into her shoulder, rubbing her back, and rocking her a little. When she pulls away, her palms roll down his forearms and then still his wrists. The look she gives him makes him arch an eyebrow. It was something he couldn't read. 

"Merlin, please," she whispers.

Her eyes were an endless abyss that he grew lost in, like an enchanted forest. She tightened her hold on his wrists, keeping him where he was. She leaned in to kiss him, and Merlin did not know how to respond or how to feel about it. He let her do what she wanted, continuing to keep still; only slightly opening his mouth for her, offering. She didn't do much. She had probably never kissed anyone before that moment, and didn't know what to do either. Her eyes were closed and his remained open, taking in every bit of her beauty and smell. If she were not royalty, maybe he wouldn't think twice about it. But then again, once upon a time, he was head over heels for her half brother, and that was definitely not allowed. Love can be cruel like that, make you want someone you cannot have. The heart doesn't care that it wouldn't work. The heart is selfish, so selfish that it could make you want to die without that certain someone.

When Morgana pulls away, her eyes go wide, her large pupils (signs of depression, tiredness, romantic or sexual attraction, Merlin remembered Gaius telling him) quickly going small from the realization of her actions. She lets go of him, and a part of him wishes she didn't. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that."

Strange. It was as if she was possessed and then released, waking from a trance. 

He smiles at her, teases her. "Are you feeling lonesome, my Lady? Don't worry about it. I understand loneliness. Besides, it's probably the most affection I'll ever get in my lifetime." He stands from her bed and leans down to kiss her forehead, from which he can hear her sucking in a breath. He did this gingerly, carefully, like she might jump away if he came at her too fast. "Good night."

Merlin acknowledges that he feels something for her, but it isn't that deep longing. All he knows is that he wants to take care of her. "Fixing her" might be along the same lines. He wished he could.

VIII  
When he had night terrors as a teenager, back when he lived with his mother, he did the same thing to his friend, Will. Funny, that. Sometimes, the nightmares made him develop the ailments of a fever: hot and cold flashes, extremely weak, loss of appetite. Whenever Will tended to him, made sure Merlin took the medication his mother made him or ate his food, he yearned for affection. He got so terribly lonely like this. Being sick and bedridden intensified the ache he felt every day. Whenever Will sat at his bedside, like Merlin did with Morgana, tending to him and treating him, Merlin would reach out and hug him. When Will did not pull away, Merlin would kiss him. It started with the cheek, then the lips. For each kiss, Will would laugh. Merlin was glad, and fortunate. 

He loved Will. He would even go as far as to say that he was his first love.

IX  
It didn't cross the physician's mind until the intervention. Arthur started giving Merlin shifty looks, then it was Gwen and Morgana. So when the three royals invite him to an evening feast in the main lobby, he knew it was going to be then and there that they would finally be out with it. (There's too much food spread out, even for four people. Merlin can't help but be saddened by the sight of it all. Half of it will be dumped into the streets, where hungry commoners will be waiting to fight over the scraps. He's sure Gwen thinks of the same thing, being a servant and living down in the village herself once. Perhaps she can think of a way to properly manage their food intake.)

The dinner starts off with an awkward silence. Everyone is either enjoying their food or drink too much to talk, or they didn't properly plan this out and weren't sure who was going to be the one to start it. In the end, it was Arthur that cleared his throat and wiped his mouth: "Merlin."

Merlin looks up from his soup bowl at him. He might look like he's glaring from that angle: "Arthur."

There's another silence, and Merlin and Arthur are just staring each other down. It was almost as if Merlin's informal, unchallenging tone threw the king off and he lost his train of thought. So Merlin continues: "Is there something wrong, sire? Is there something on my face?"

"Merlin, are you...feeling alright?"

"I think so? Why?"

"We've been worried about you," Gwen jumps in. "We're worried that you are alone too often."

Now Morgana: "We know that the passing of Gaius must have been effecting you..."

When Merlin hears Morgana say this, looks at her from across the table and instantly knows what this is about. The other day, Morgana walked all the way down to his chambers for what he assumed was to talk about a bad dream, or to talk about her medication, but no. She wanted to bring him flowers. Why? She looked at them and thought of him. They had his colors. He looks at her smiling that smile of hers and holding them out in front of her. There were so many flowers, he almost can't see her behind them.

His response? "Oh. No, thanks. I already bring enough flowers in here."

A part of him just shrugs the incident off, but another part of him thinks: What the hell kind of answer was that? Why couldn't he just take the flowers and thank her, like a decent fucking person? 

It's not until this intervention that Merlin wonders about the exchange he made. If he is unable to feel love for one person, will he be able to love anyone at all, for the remainder of his life? Was this the price, and not the life of Gaius?

"Effected me how, your majesties?"

"Well..."Gwen continues, her eyes flickering here and there, "we just think that maybe you are lonesome. If we were to suggest taking in an assistant or an apprentice to keep you company and for you to teach..."

They say some names and he turns down all of their suggestions. The dinner ends with them nodding to him, telling him the will be on the look out for others.

X  
Merlin is surprised to find a letter left at the physician's door when he comes back from making his usual deliveries. He sees his mother's name on it and he can already feel that pool of dread at his core.

XI  
He goes out into the trees more and more, goes out further and further, to the farthest of rivers and mountain sides when retrieving plants and stones. It takes him back to the days when he felt fully human, with far-off dreams and aspirations, when he thought that a single walk into nature would bring about some fulfilling adventure.

When he comes back from his trips, the king nags: "You can't keep going out alone like that. It's too dangerous. Ask one of the knights to go with you. Or Morgana. God knows she needs a day out every once in a while. She's more shut in than you are."

Does he care? Does he listen? No. Because it's Arthur. But the thought of taking Morgana and Sefa out with him does sound nice.

XII  
The dream takes place in an open field. It's either late at night or he's found himself in a realm of darkness, where there hangs no sun or moon. And from somewhere in this ocean of darkness, he hears his sorcerer name being called: "Emrys." The whisperer keeps saying it, like a prayer, or a spell, over and over and over. "Emrys. Emrys. Emrys. Emrys."

After twirling around in circles, eyes golden and scanning through pitch black - a dead tree here, a large boulder there - he finds the open mouth of a cave. "Emrys. Emrys."

It feels like an eternity since he last heard that name.

(The voice of Gaius echoes in his head: "Looks like your destiny's calling. You better go and see what he wants.")


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all the Merdred shippers reading this, please be patient. It will be in the next two chapters. Merlin's fling with Morgana is important, though.
> 
> And for the lay-out errors in this chapter (as in no spaces in between a couple of sentences): I've tried fixing them. Every time I edit and post it, it just goes back to how it was.

XIII  
The walk with the Lady Morgana and Sefa is not as awkward as Merlin expected it to be. Their stories and smiles make the trips here and there, to get this plant and this plant, unusually short, and not as strenuous. The Lady and servant appear to have a good relationship, one that is fair and friendly. He's glad for that. Their good company also makes Merlin realize how fast the day flew by. Before night fall, Merlin wishes to sit with them in an open field that views the mountains and lake.

"Merlin," Morgana starts, when Sefa is permitted to venture further and further out into the field to sight see and wander.

"My Lady," Merlin says, his eyes stuck on the snowy peaks of the mountains in the distance. When he looks at the lake below them, it makes him think of all the dreams he used to have of arms reaching out from beneath the watery surface, holding up magical swords.

"You have magic, don't you."

The words make the physician's head turn, giving her the full attention he knows she's been wanting. 

"You see, I think I have it too. Sefa, I tell her about my dreams, and she thinks it too, for you see, she descends from people of magic. I don't think she herself has it, though."

Merlin just stares her down, like he did with Arthur during the intervention, trying to read her through her equally-intense gaze. He loses the battle and turns to look back at the mountains. She's too fierce. "It's a lonely life, being a sorcerer in a land that condemns you and your kind. You don't know who you can tell, who to trust."

"Once, when Uther lived." He doesn't have to look back at her to know that she's still looking at him. He can feel that burn of innovation. "But perhaps Arthur can unite all people once more. Perhaps I can talk to him. Or at least talk to Gwen, and she can talk to him."

"We must be careful. We have to ease into it. Arthur values Uther's word and law, regardless of how he himself felt about it."

"Well, I've always had a tendency to talk him in or out of things."

They stay until they see the faint face of the moon and the first set of stars, then the three of them make their way back to Camelot, arriving just in time for it to nearly almost be too dark for them to see what's in front of them. When Merlin escorts the Lady and servant to Morgana's chambers, he stays long after Sefa has done her duties for the evening and leaves. He doesn't remember falling asleep in Morgana's bed with her. 

All he knows is that he was in her room, lying on her bed, then Merlin saw him. The Druid boy. He saw him across the room, sitting cross-legged on her stone floor. He didn't say anything, and he didn't move. He was a few years older (maybe sixteen to seventeen years of age) and he was dressed in typical, loose, nomadic clothes. He did not move at all, aside from his lips moving slightly, as if he were trying to speak, but Merlin hears nothing come out. Not like it matters. Like always, more than anything, all Merlin's attention is on the intensity of the boy's eyes.

Another dream.

Merlin wakes up to Morgana's sweet smell. Before his eyes were opened all the way, he turns to his left and his nose and lips end up in her dark, silky hairs. She wasn't sleeping on him, but she was very, very close. The outline of her body barely touched Merlin's, her head laying just above his shoulder. If she leaned forward, she would be kissing his shoulder.

XIV  
Another day out with Morgana and Sefa. This time, they end up having a picnic by the very creek Arthur invited Gwen to when they were seeing each other in secret way back when, when Uther lived. Why was Merlin just now learning this. He was Arthur's fucking manservant then. He knew everything Arthur did, knew of all the places he went. How could Gwen not tell him. (Well, he knows for sure that if he found out then, he would be teasing her about it day in and day out; with how often she denied having feelings for Arthur. "Who would want to marry that bully.")

"I'm being called by my sorcerer name," Merlin explains, as they started on the topic of dreams and those they believe have meaning, "over and over and over. I walk into a cave and I see a dying man by a well. The ink on his wrist shows what I believe to be the marking of a Druid Seer. He told me that the pool contained my future. Now...I had actually had this dream before. Several times. When I looked into the pool years ago, I saw a battle in which Arthur dies, and I saw the man who killed him."

"Do we know the man who...?" 

They did know him. They all did: Himself, Gwen, Morgana, Arthur. But he knew that if he spoke his name, they wouldn't believe him. 

Merlin does not give a name, and he continues with the story: "But this year, when I dreamt the same dream again and looked into the pool, I saw a different future." 

"And?"

Merlin focuses on a bug hopping along the surfaces of the still parts of the creek. The jumps make the mirror quiver. "It was the same young man, but in different clothes, and in a different setting. The man that killed Arthur wore a knight's attire, and the two of them were surrounded by dead bodies; a battle field. In this changed vision, however, Arthur was nowhere to be seen, and the setting was nothing like the original. Thankfully. The young man appeared to be a travelling nomad. It makes sense, as he is a Druid, and he was travelling alone, through trees such as this. It was a peaceful vision."

"A Druid? Travelling alone? But they are peaceful people, and they travel in groups. How do you even know they were the same person?"  
"It was the same features of the face, hair, and body; no doubt about it."

The man's lips were full, gentle, like a woman's; his nose was small, and his eyes - gods, his eyes. This man was undeniably gorgeous, but still had the aura of being a possible threat. 

The only other gaze that Merlin felt he could compare the man's to was Morgana's. Maybe that was why he was drawn to her. 

"Why were the visions in the pool changed?"

"I may have done something to change their destinies." He caught himself before he was able to say 'our destinies'.

"Do you think it's a better outcome than Arthur..." She couldn't even say it.

"I don't know. All I know is that things are different now."

"What could you have done to change the future?"

He turns to finally look at her. For some reason, finally being able to to tell someone about it made his skin crawl. "I chanted a spell on myself, and no one else. To change myself."

"Merlin...is that why you've been acting strange lately? The spell you cast upon yourself?"

He nodded. When he let out this particular sigh, it was as if he had been holding his breath - for weeks, months - until that very moment. The sigh came out shaky, as if he were reborn and this was the first breath he drew in this new life. A tear burned out from his eye, lining down his cheek. "I cast out the love in my heart. I knew that if I continued to love this person, things would not turn out so well. For anyone. Why should I paint myself and others into a tragedy - all for the ache of a persistent, unrequited love."  
XV  
"So what do you two do out there, hm?"

The king apparently has nothing better to do than go to Merlin's chambers and bother him as he grinds up herbs and places potions over the fire to boil. Not that he needs to concentrate or risk getting the amount of dosage wrong, which could kill a patient. No big deal.

"Three," the physician corrects, while his mind is on numbers.

"Sefa doesn't count."

Of course, servants don't count. "If you're not here for something health-related, get out."

There's a pause, then he hears Arthur let out a sigh. "Alright. I know I'm a king, so we can't really be friends. And if I wasn't a king..."

"What?"

"Well, we could probably get on."

"See, if you weren't a king, I'd tell you to mind your own damn business."

"Merlin. I could behead you for that."

"You won't."

He's not Uther.

"You're just trying to avoid the question."

"I'm not avoiding it, I'm just refusing to answer it. So, my King, have you found a new manservant yet?" Because, yes, he's going there.

"Well, no."

"Oh, dear me! You're actually getting dressed by yourself?"

"Gwen helps me."

Eventually, Gwen was able to get him a manservant that stuck around. His name was Daegal. Daegal reminded Merlin of Will. Well, in looks, anyway.

XVI  
(Merlin actually had a dream of that exact conversation once, before it came to be. Mind you, there were still some differences, but he could not deny the parts of the dream and the reality that were exact parallels. What Merlin could not figure out was the situation, the setting. It appeared that Arthur and him were at a run-down inn, sharing a room with two twin beds. Arthur appeared sickly, bandages wrapped around his torso; some parts spotted with blood. But in despite of the signs of sickness and needing treatment, Arthur remained his smug, condescending self, joking and throwing a pillow at him from across the room.

What haunted him the most about the dream was when Arthur asked, "Are you missing Gaius?")

XVII  
When Merlin opens the letter and reads what his mother wrote him, his hands grow shaky.

"...Merlin, my son, I just wanted to tell you that your friend, Will, has passed on. He died fighting, like his father before him, wearing his armor. The village is finally free..."

He can't find it in him to finish the letter, letting it fall to the floor and collapsing in his (Gaius') chair. How cruel. The spell only took away the high of falling in love, and not the void of falling out of it.

XVIII  
Now they're laying in Morgana's bed together. It's late at night. The castle's quiet and unmoving. Most everyone is asleep. It's nice not being able to sleep alone tonight. Merlin is sitting up, with Morgana's back against his chest, and their faces are side by side, cheek to cheek. The silence and dim lighting of the room is like a soothing blanket. It's all so soothing that the physician and Lady do not wish to tear through it all by talking. Until...

"Merlin, I wish to confess something." Her eyes are barely seen at the corner of peripheral vision; just the flutter of her eyelashes. He isn't able to read her through her gaze at this angle. She reaches for his arm and wraps it around her chest, their fingers lacing together on her shoulder.

Dread. His heart starts to beat faster. He wonders why. She can probably feel it. "I'm listening."

It's not the confession he was expecting at all. "It was me."

"You?"

"I know you know that Uther was poisoned. You wanted him dead, so you did not share the knowledge."

"You..."

"It was me. I killed him. He..." She began to shake, and as she fought harder and harder to hold back the burn of impending sobs, her shaking got worse. She made sure it was slow and torturous, like the pain he had given her over years.

He pulls her closer to him and gently rocks her. "Shhh. Don't talk. You did the right thing. He deserved it. Your secret is safe with me."

"And yours with me."

XIX  
Another night, when the two sorcerers were locked in the Lady Morgana's chambers yet again, she asked of Merlin to play out a rather...interesting scene with her. When she whispered what she wanted into his ear, flushed and biting her bottom lip and fiddling with her fingers, it made Merlin raise an eyebrow. He felt the heat rise to his face, then his loins.

"I want to tie you down and make you take me, force you to come when I want you to. Would you like that?"

It was good to know that his "lacking in heartfelt love" did nothing to the primal urge of arousal and the pursuit of sexual pleasure, the thrill of bedding a beautiful lover. (Or did that still only apply to Arthur? He was still trying to figure this whole thing out.)

XX  
Merlin had only slept with one other girl. Will was his first kiss. Lana was his first fuck. It was back in the village, at the edge of nowhere, where it was constant hardship. Work, work, work; day in and day out; only to be robbed by bandits every other week. Miss a chore and it could leave everyone starving. Merlin and Lana were supposed to be out doing some kind of chore, but since the two of them were alone and both had been madly curious about "the ways of their mothers and fathers", they saw the opportunity to sneak into an empty barn. It was filthy, smelly, and hot. The wood had mold. The hay was wet, it got everywhere, and they had to be careful about where they rolled. But Merlin would never forget how his heart pounded so ferociously that he thought it would burst. He'd never forget how his limbs trembled and felt the roll of beads of sweat. 

Apparently, his eyes turned yellow when he was at the peak of his pleasure, feeling her tight heat around him. She screamed and pushed him off of her. She gathered her clothes and ran out. She left the land shortly after.

XXI  
Just like the Lady wanted, Merlin let her tie his wrists up to her headboard, laying him out as open and as naked as the day the gods brought him into this world. When she disrobed - her silk dress falling off smoothly and her body fair and free of speckles, like all the maidens in those old paintings - all he could do to help with his arousal was hump the air above him. For someone who claimed to have never done this before, she knew how to take her time, let her feminine wiles torture him and leave him begging. She whimpered as she spread her legs and lowered herself into his face. He wished he was able to see the beautiful face that made those beautiful moans as his enthusiastic tongue flicked and soothed and fucked. Afterwards, while riding him, she moaned that she "could feel him". She could feel his magic inside her. "It's like the sun. Oh, you feel so wonderful, Merlin. I knew you would feel good. You're being so good for me."

And he felt her too. Oh, gods, he could feel her. Her power spread through him like a hot gust of wind, forcing out a moan that was impossible for him to hold back. He could feel all of her passion, all of the kind of love that he expelled from himself. For a few seconds, Merlin felt that flame and he actually thought he was dying. But afterwards, he felt relieved. So, so relieved. It was here that Merlin realized that, in the beginning, she might have been drawn to his aura. That is what brought the attraction. It made sense. He was the first sorcerer to stick around, to not be executed and spend a great deal of time with her.

When their lust was satisfied and Morgana untied him, Merlin felt that emptiness again. He did not like how he felt like he needed her touch, that hot gust of wind, that near death; like how a drunk needs their wine, or how a smoker needs their tobacco. He did not like that deep void after that high. 

They made love only two other times after, and that was the end of it. It was all Merlin could handle, and Morgana was happy. In fact, she seemed more alive. It seemed like she had more color in her face. She didn't just smile more, she laughed more. And she slept and slept and slept; at normal hours, the number of night terrors reduced a great deal. According to Sefa, the Lady Morgana only had nightmares every other week or so, like the average person. 

It was like the Lady Morgana was completely healed.

XXII  
It's not a dream.

"Help."

"Help me. Please."

"Emrys."

The words don't stop when Merlin opens his eyes. It's not a dream. The first thing he sees is the black ceiling of his night-shadowed room. The words make his head ache. It has been so long. It's like the sounds are harsh waves of water beating and washing over him. Merlin sits straight up in bed, half awake and half asleep, a thick layer of sleepiness and consciousness. 

It's all so familiar. So heartbreaking.

"Emrys, I'm dying. I'm close to Camelot, in the trees. Please. I need to see you. Help me."

His nerves feel like icey spikes tickling his skin as he wakes up instantly, his vision clearing and his energy up. Merlin cannot ignore it, even if this turns out to be in his head or some kind of trick. He wasn't going to risk making the same mistake again. There would be no hesitation. He puts on his boots, his coat, packs his knife, and his potion bag for good measure.

His caller is injured. Merlin can feel it, the ache of his torso, his backside. It's like it's not just their minds that are connected, but their whole bodies.

"I hear you," Merlin tries his best to respond. He's not exactly a master of telepathy. "I'm coming for you. Where are you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the beginning of Mordred's perspective. It gets pretty dark. Sorry about that. But things do get better. I've had a crazy week at work (closing shift, two back-to-back 12-hour shifts, then a morning shift after). In the few breaks If I've had, I have sat down and scribbled this story down in my journal. If there are errors, sorry. My tablet sometimes messes shit up. I'll fix it later. Hope you enjoy.

PART TWO: Mordred.

"The World is my Land  
The Plain and the Magical  
And my Heart my Home  
And so are the Hearts of others  
Either Plain or Magical  
For they share this Land with me  
There is no evil, only the Lost  
And the Hurt"

I  
The first memory that Mordred has is of the time he was forced to get the triskelian ink below his collarbone. He didn't know the exact year he got it. All he knows is that it was shortly after he started walking. How can one forget being held down by a circle of fuzzy figures and screaming, squirming, feeling the pain of the needle. After that, he has flashes of travelling around with his father, and the mumblings of his father's voice. One of the few things Mordred vaguely remembers his father talking about is what the three swirls of the triskelian ink meant (as he had asked), and that was when he learned what a mother was. And from that, he learned that he had no mother. That time period, that in-between (the two "sides" being the time he got the ink and the time he met Emrys in Camelot), is not all clear in his mind, and it has not aged well. He can't even remember his parents' names. He'd have to say that he is twenty years of age now, maybe a bit over. It's hard keeping up with numbers when a nomad is orphaned by the age of ten, then goes around from group to group, from land to land. There are so many things wrong with the world he was born and suddenly orphaned into. It all comes down to if one is worthy of keeping in a group. If you wear out your usefulness (too old to work, too sick, or just not a good fighter or hunter or robber), you'll just be cast out, killed, or left to die. That's how Mordred got out of one group. When he got dreadfully ill, too ill to work or fight or even walk, they made him a mat to lay on in the trees and left him there, at the mercy of the elements and the beasts. He was in such a bad way. He was hoarse, pale, covered in sores, and ached all over. He himself thought it was the end for him. It must have been all that rest, and all that magic inside that saved him. 

II  
"A maiden is a girl, a child your age. A mother is a girl that is all grown up and gives birth. And a crone is an elderly woman. It's the three phases of life."

"Mothers bring people into the world?"

"They do. Everyone has a mother. I had a mother, and you had a mother too."

"Where is my mother?"

"She died; from giving birth to you."

So she only lived one phase of life, and maybe lived a day in the second. Mordred still wonders if that's all true, if it's the real story behind his mother's death. There are times Mordred wonders if she's not dead at all. Maybe she abandoned them once she realized what kind of child he was.

III  
At first, he did not know it was Emrys, the great force or entity or power that his father spoke of in their travels. How could he think that. The man looked so plain.

The events of that fateful day came and went so quickly that his little sensitive mind barely processed what was going on. His compass to survival that day relied purely on luck. All Mordred knew was that they were in the Camelot market, then his father started running, so Mordred started running too, dodging the Camelot guards through the crowds of sellers and buyers. And when his father stopped running, he stopped. Then his father kneeled down before him so that he stood at his son's height. He caressed his cheek and his hair, "Be brave. I love you, son." His father then pointed to a set of giant double doors that were about to slam shut. "Now, run! RUN!"

Mordred does as he is told, running through and turning to look back at his father, confused about what to do next. It would be the last time he saw his father's face. He was smiling, trying to comfort his son in what he did not know was a farewell. The doors slam shut and little Mordred was now stuck in the innermost wall of Camelot, where the castle was, where the ruthless King Uther was. He was alone, confused, and at the mercy of any kind or cruel soul he would come across next. He hides behind a cart and, sensing someone with magic nearby, cried out desperately to them with his mind: "HELP. HELP ME. PLEASE."

It was probably not even a minute later when help arrived, but hiding under that cart, enduring the pain in his arm (as a Camelot guard had swung his sword at him in their chase through the market and cut him), and praying to the gods - it felt like an eternity. The person he senses steps out of the front doors to the castle itself: a tall, lean, young man; looked to be in their mid to later teen-age years. By the looks of his dull, simple clothes, he must be some kind of serving boy. And to think that there was magic in the bigoted (or as his father would say, "lost and hurt") heart of Camelot, hiding in plain sight.

It takes a moment for the man to see him hiding by the cart. And when he does, Mordred reaches out to him again: "Please! You have to help me! They're looking for me."

The man's eyes are so sympathetic, gentle. Please, please. Don't turn away. He eyes the guards that are looking through that area, then he responds back the best he can to Mordred in kind, with telepathy: "Why are they looking for you?"

It's a bit of a struggle to open up to this stranger, but he has no choice. He appears to be the only other person with magic here. Mordred clings to the natural kindred spirit he and this stranger have. "They're going to kill me. Please. Help me."

When the man turns and makes his way to a side entrance, Mordred, at first, is petrified. He's afraid that the man is just going to abandon him to save his own neck, but then the man looks back his way and waves his hand. "This way. Come now! Run!" Even when he was urgent, his voice was gentle.

There's a hesitance, as if Mordred can't believe it. Then at the man's second call, "RUN," he readies himself. He holds the wound on his arm and, his heart racing, tries to run as fast as his tired little legs can run across the yard. It's not until the stranger takes hold of Mordred's hand in their sprint through the castle that Mordred feels the intensity of this man's power. He knows who he is. In an instant, all the fear and pain and dread in his little body is overrun by this radiant sense of peacefulness. He was holding the hand of a god. For a moment, it's like he has lost his vision, blinded by a sun, making him stumble a bit in their run. But the feeling is short-lived. Once they are in the Lady Morgana's chambers, the exhaustion from running for his life, twice, hits him, and he collapses in Emrys' arms.

Looking back on it, Mordred sometimes wondered if his father had sensed Emrys before and during the chase, and that is why he ran for the castle, told him to seek sanctuary there. He knew Emrys was there. He knew he would help.

IV  
Mordred was barely conscious when the then Prince Arthur entered Morgana's chambers to look for him. He was hiding behind a curtain with Emrys. Arthur was sent by Uther, under the orders to find the boy and bring him to his execution, but Mordred did not sense any kind of hostility from the prince himself, at all. Sure, maybe Arthur was ignorant, easily swayed by the things and the people around him, but no, Mordred's magic never once collided with the prince's aura. And maybe it was actually his own magic overriding it all (along with the ever-constant glow of Emrys), but Mordred almost seemed to sense a third wave of colors with Arthur. He had once heard that he was born from magic, carried out by the High Priestess Nimueh herself. If Arthur did have magic, it was quite weak. It was barely there. Years of ignorance and lack of training. He also sensed something with the Lady Morgana (but not her serving girl, who eyed him funny). It's also faint, but still a great deal more powerful than Arthur's colors. Morgana's magic felt like it was being choked. He couldn't focus on it for too long for how pained it was. It was barely breathing, barely flowing. At some point, it was going to start fighting.

V  
In the beginning, all little Mordred felt from Emrys, aside from the "sun", was endearment: "He's just like me, he has magic"; the urge to protect a child, to help him and nurse him through his fever in any way he could. The only negative feelings he felt from him here and there was the sadness of Mordred losing his father (a deeper look into that sadness was curious, like Emrys himself lost his own father), and the fear of being discovered. He did not want little Mordred to be found and killed. 

Mordred felt safe with this sorcerer - the Ultimate Sorcerer - as his fever made him weak and vulnerable. As he wavered in and out of consciousness - at some point being transferred from his hiding spot in the corner to Morgana's large bed - he tried to make sure his savior knew of his gratitude. He didn't have to save him. When Emrys hovered over him as he laid in bed (assuming to check on his wound), being too tired to speak (and also too bashful), Mordred once again used his mind to tell the sorcerer, "Thank you, Emrys."

He almost didn't let Emrys leave Morgana's chambers that day. As soon as the man was in reach, Mordred used all his strength to reach up and wrap his arms around his neck, clinging to him hard, as if his life depended on it. His scared thoughts must have rang in the sorcerer's mind so loud that he could barely hear the two women trying to soothe Mordred and pry the child off of him.

"No! Where are you going! You can't! You're all I have now! Don't leave! I want you here! I want you with me, always!"

Eventually, he gave in to tiredness and let go.

VI  
Mordred remembers how the Lady Morgana hugged him close to her as their escape plan to get him out of Camelot failed, trying to use her status to shield the both of them from the guards that ambushed them. He remembered seeing the look on Arthur's face, incredulous and sympathetic, when he saw that it was them.

"Please, I beg of you," Morgana pleaded with her brother, her eyes filling with tears and her voice pitiful. "Let him go. He's just a child."

Mordred could read every one of the several emotions that flashed across his face in that moment, and he knew what he was thinking without even having to use his telepathy. Oh my god, it's Morgana. Morgana is committing treason. He looks so young. I watched his father get executed. I want to let them go. I want to let them go so bad. But the guards are here. If it were just me...

VII  
After that came the only faltering moment between him and Emrys. The sorcerer was late for the second escape attempt, when Arthur himself broke Mordred out of his prison cell. Emrys was supposed to meet up with them at the barred dead-end of one of Camelot's underground tunnels; bring chains to pull the bars out from the outside so the prince and him could run for the trees. For several minutes, Arthur and little Mordred waited, the footsteps of Camelot guards heard echoing throughout the tunnels. 

Arthur was becoming furious. "Where the hell is that idiot! Damn it, Merlin!"

Emrys eventually, finally, arrived, but after Mordred reached out to him, ghosting through the earth above them and stone walls to wherever he was. (If he were the age that is now, this much usage of magic would have been too much, too exhausting. For some reason, magic is stronger the younger one is.) He remembers that the sorcerer tried putting up some kind of wall, some kind of resistance against his call. Was he afraid of getting caught and killed himself? Was he stuck in a situation that he found hard to get out of at that moment?

"Emrys. Emrys, where are you. Don't ignore me, Emrys. I know you can hear me. Why are you doing this. I don't understand. We're the same. I thought you were my friend. I don't want to die. Please. Emrys. Emrys! EMRYS!"

When Emrys arrived and broke the bars open, Arthur readied his horse to take Mordred back to his people. Before they rode away, Mordred turned back to look at the sorcerer that almost let him die, who looked tired and somewhat guilty: "Goodbye, Emrys. I know that one day, we will meet again."

VIII  
After he was returned to his people, it was not long before he was cast out. Mordred's rage and thirst for revenge since his father's beheading was beyond his uncle's control. ("We are a peaceful people, Mordred. That is not the Druid way. If you have a wish for violence, for blood shed, that is your choice, and your choice alone. We will not be apart of it. Perhaps you can find accomplices for those wishes elsewhere.") People were getting hurt by his sudden fits. His uncle could only give him so much. Mordred thought he was alone in that castle. A child a little over ten years with the few supplies he can carry and having no idea where to go in the open world...

That was alone.

IX  
Over the years, he had seen it all and he had been through it all. He had been conned. He had been ambushed, beaten, and robbed. He had robbed others. He had seen others get attacked. He had watched people die among the trees and on the roadsides. He had seen people get raped and he himself had been forced into prostitution to survive. He had assisted people in killings for money and he himself has killed for money. He had rounded people up and turned them in, innocent or guilty. He had been left to die, with wounds ranging from small to fatal. He had been so cold that he hallucinated, and he had endured heat so hot that his organs nearly fried. He thought he found love in people, only for them to leave him (Kara, another Druid outcast, being one). He thought he found people to call family, only for him to realize that they used him for his power.

There were two positives in this line of constant misery and hardship. The first was his father's words, or the words that he could remember, or just the idea of what his father might say or do if he were still there. There were times he had to catch himself, swallow his pride, and let things go. He thought of what his father would say: "Always stay humble. We must do what we must to survive. Just stay alive. One breath at a time." Whenever he was met with cruelty, he struggled with the will to keep going. There were times he would look up to the skies, tears down his face: "Father, I'm trying. I'm trying so hard. I'm lost without you. I don't know what to do. I wonder if anything is worth a Druid's kindness anymore. Help me, father, if you can hear me. Please."

X  
And that second positive: the "light of hope" from within. Up until this light entered Mordred's body, he carried on with barely any faith or belief in goodness. With each misfortune and act of cruelty he witnessed or experienced, the more jaded he became. He got angrier, and either wanted to kill or be killed. To satisfy this monster inside, he either wanted to take a life or let death take him.

This "light" came onto him as he slept in the trees one night. He was in his mid teen-age years, ages of immense angst. He went to sleep like usual - with a struggle with morality and praying for death to take him in his sleep - then suddenly woke up from a wave of warmth. When he let out a sigh, it was like he sighed a hundred times in one, and when he shed tears, it was like he shed the tears of a dozen people. For a moment, he thought he was dying. He thought this was the end. He thought his father finally heard his prayers and was giving him a merciful passing from this cruel, cruel world.

But no.

The waves surges through him and by the end of it all, he feels instant relief. He woke up at that hour with such a fantastic sense of contentment that he never imagined was possible. 

Never in his life had he felt such...love.

Never again did he feel burdened or heavy-hearted. His moments of anger and melancholy were like mere itches on his soul, and they came and went like a passing river. 

There were times, however, this warmth, this love, brought about some concerning things. Sometimes this warmth made him so content and energized that he wouldn't eat or sleep when he needed to. And from that, sometimes didn't see the harm in walking or hiking an extra few miles when he should have been relaxing or taking his time.

XI  
The news of Uther's passing was the first thing that made Mordred want to travel back to Camelot. Then there was news of big names in the Magical world, like Morgause and Nimueh, going to Camelot to seek council with the King Arthur and Queen Guinevere (to which Mordred thought, As in Gwen? Lady Morgana's serving girl?) to hopefully bring peace back to the land, let the plain mix with the Magical again.

For years, since the "light" entered his body and soul, Mordred had the urge to go back. There was not a doubt in his mind that Emrys had something to do with it all, this feeling. Ever since that night, Mordred dreamt of Emrys, in the night and in the day, in his sleep and in his wake.

With the "lost and the hurt" gone, every bit of Mordred's being urged him in that direction. The homeless set out for the kingdom that he hoped would accept him.

XII  
The travel to Camelot drags on and on. It's because he can't wait to get there. His excitement pushes him, deprives him of hunger and tiredness and doubt, and Mordred is able to reach Arthur's land in a few days. He's so close. He can see the top tower of the Pendragon castle. Even in the darkness of the night, he can see it. Mordred stops in the field, one that views distant mountains and a lake simmering in faint levels of magic, to smile at the sight. It had been so long. He's smiling so hard that his face hurts. He can't help it. He had heard of how promising of a king Arthur is, and Emrys...

It is Emrys that has filled him with this love, and he will help him understand it. Mordred is sure of it. He takes a deep breath, then continues onward. Just a few more miles and he will be there. He makes his way through the trees neighboring the kingdom he seeks, and then...

Pain. Pain in his torso, just below his heart, then his back, between his shoulder blades. The ambush is sudden, and he can't see his attackers' faces. But he knows their voices. He knows why they have plunged their arrows into him.

He thinks of how his father always said to never travel alone at night, then sighs, deciding to not waste his time trying to talk to them or reason with them. He knows them well enough to know that they are too far gone, too "lost and hurt" to talk himself out of it. He doesn't want to use his magic for harm, but he has been attacked. He has been wounded and he may be dying. He whispers a few words and a wave of energy is expelled from him, going in all directions. Some are knocked out. Some hit their heads on stones and trees and die. They gave him no choice, and he doesn't have time to care.

Stumbling onward, he reaches out. "Emrys. Emrys, help me. Please." He leans against a tree to catch his breath. "I'm dying. I'm close to Camelot, in the trees. I need to see you. Help me."

The response is instant. "I hear you. I'm coming for you. Where are you."

"I'm heading for the Valley Of The Fallen Kings. Meet me there." The memory of his father's stories flashed across his mind at that moment. It was almost as if he was being drawn to that place.

"You need to stay where you are! Don't strain yourself!"

Besides, it was a good landmark, one that Emrys surely knew of. "It will be better for us there. Meet me there." There's a drop in strength. He remembers that in his excitement to get to Camelot, he had barely eaten or slept. Things were looking pretty bleak. "Emrys, I...I'm sorry. I'm so tired."

"Mordred! Stay with me! I'm almost there."

His vision is fading, and his body is feeling lighter and lighter. He clings to that love, that warmth, hoping it will keep him grounded. "Whatever happens--"

"Shh. Don't. Just stay with me. Stay awake."

"It's too late."

"Don't say that!"

"I just...I just want to see you. That's all I ask."


End file.
